


Till Morning Breaks

by raiyana, Unlos



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Collaboration, F/M, Feels, Inspired by Fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlos/pseuds/Unlos
Summary: Fëanáro's words echo in the minds of many, fanning the flames of passionate hearts to follow him - but not all.





	Till Morning Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the amazing Unlos ([Usuallysublimepenguin on Tumblr](usuallysublimepenguin.tumblr.com)) based on a stock pose by [Senshistock on DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/senshistock/gallery/)

Her husband slept soundly.

It was his wont and still Anairë couldn’t help but feel that it was _him_ who should be tossing and turning, mind churning over events of the day, over words spoken and held back.

Ñolofinwë should be the one worrying about the future, she thought.

 _I love you_. She did, let no one claim differently, but this night she thought she might hate him a little, too, understanding what Nerdanel had once meant when she spoke of turning a corner and finding a strange new room in the house she knew like the back of her hand.

Ñolo was loyal, she had always known it, admired him for his steadfastness and capability to love even in adversity.

And Fëanáro _was_ adversity.

Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart…

It was such a Ñolo thing to say, she knew – and he believed it to be true, too, which was what broke her heart so deeply when Fëanáro spurned him time and time again.

She had tried, over the years, to shift Ñolo’s longing for affection to more suitable targets. Fëanáro would never love the ner he felt born to replace him, Anairë knew, even if he tended to dote on his half-sisters when the mood took him.

The children helped, some, loving their Atar as fiercely as Ñolo adored them.

And still their family had never been enough to let him find peace from that yearning for his older brother’s approval.

Anairë rather thought she hated Fëanáro for that more than anything.

The words spoken in Tirion this eve would resound in her mind for years to come and still Anairë could not feel them take root in her own heart as she knew they had in Ñolo’s, seeing a chance to win the approval he craved by standing with his own words, echoing back at her through the years passed since that day in the Great Hall.

Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart.

She had known, yes, but to be confronted so by the fact that her love, _her views_ , carried so little weight in comparison to the unobtainable esteem of Fëa- _bloody_ -náro _hurt_.

An uncharitable thought, festering in her heart, and still it felt like a small truth woven into the Music of Arda.

She was not enough to keep him. Never would be enough.

Looking at the back of his dark head, hair braided for sleep by her own hands Anairë felt her heart break, knowing what she must do when the night ended – however little that meant now.

Reaching, she turned, not quite an embrace, but almost, her hand creeping onto his shoulder, rounded with the practise of the weapons Fëanáro had designed even if Ñolo had never before considered how their playful fencing could be turned to war.

War against a Vala.

Anairë shuddered.

 _I love you_.

Curling her fingers, she rolled closer, burying her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of warm skin that had been _home_ to her for so long.

 _I love you_.

Fitting herself against the curves of his limbs, she let herself cling to him for a moment, a minute, an hour, _eternity_.

_I love you._

 

He woke in darkness that still felt unfamiliar, but he knew it was morning. He had always been early to wake, enjoying long minutes of feeling Anairë sleep on, her familiar weight a warm comfort against his back.

Ñolofinwë smiled, catching up her hand and pressing a light kiss to slender fingers that always smelled faintly of the hops she used in her brewing. Anairë’s hands had always felt small in his own, and yet they fit perfectly over his heart, beating slow in his chest.

 _I love you_.

He knew she did not wish to follow Fëanáro – Anairë had never hidden her feelings about his older brother, after all – but he hoped she would see it as coming with _him_ , instead, when they left for Endorë. He should be up already, in truth, but part of him did not wish to leave the small cocoon of blankets, quietly fearful that the world he’d find outside their bedroom would be even stranger than the one he had bid goodnight, falling into bed in exhaustion. He still could not fathom that Atar was slain, but he knew that was no dream, and knew, also, what he must do when he inevitably left this bed.

“My Lord… the people of Fëanáro are stirring towards Alqualondë.”

“Thank you, Pantiel,” Ñolofinwë sighed, giving the servant lighting candles a small smile. She nodded once, leaving as quietly as she had entered. Behind him Anairë stirred.

“Morning has broken,” Anairë whispered, drawing her hand away. “It is time.”

Ñolofinwë suddenly felt cold.

“So claims the candle-clocks,” he replied, turning back to look at her. _So beautiful_. “We shall take ship from Olwë’s quays, my love, and build new homes in Endorë soon.” Smiling, he leaned in to kiss her forehead as he always did before getting up in the morning.

Anairë closed her eyes, her breath not as steady as it usually was. Getting up on the bed, she caught his hand in her own. “No, Ñolo, I beg you… do not leave.”

“I must, Ana,” Ñolofinwë replied gently, cupping her face in his free hand. “Atar must be avenged, Náro has the right of that, regardless of my feelings on the Valar and their control of our peoples. This is going to be a good thing in the end, you will see.”

“You must, yes,” she sighed, leaning into his touch for a moment, “I know you – your sense of honour would not permit you to turn from _him_ – and still I ask that you do not. Stay with me, Ñolo… please.”

The kiss he gave her was bittersweet to the tongue and when he pulled back Ñolofinwë was hit with a dizzying revelation.

“You’re… not coming with us?” he asked, staggering back a step as he stared at her.

Anairë shook her head, and Ñolo’s view of the world and their place in it suddenly tilted on its own axis.

_She’s really… not… coming with me?_

“No, my love,” Anairë sighed, getting to her feet and drawing a thin robe around her shoulders. Hugging herself, she looked at him, palpable sorrow filling the space between them. “Much will I do for you, and have done, Ñolo, and to many fates I could lay my path with yours with no question.”

Swallowing, she closed her eyes, and Ñolofinwë suddenly realised that she was trying not to weep. He felt like weeping himself, like wrapping her in his arms and hiding in the comfort of her hair.

He could not move, his feet frozen to the floor.

Anairë opened her eyes, and he could see tears there, but determination to equal his own, also, and he knew she would be no more swayed from her course than he could from his.

“You cannot ask me to watch you fall to a war of your brother’s making – a war that cannot be won,” she said, clutching at her chest like her heart pained her as greatly as Ñolo’s did in that moment of cruel realisation that _this is where we part_. Sighing, she shuffled a step and suddenly Ñolofinwë could move, too, catching her hand once more and pulling her into his hold.

“We will win, melmenya,” he promised, believing the words with all his heart. Had not Fëanáro spent years explaining just how they would that?

“ _Ñolo, you go to fight Melkor!_ ” she cried, a single tear slipping free of her control to roll down her cheek, her closed fist helplessly hitting his breast. “How can I –I” Falling silent, clinging to him, Anairë trembled.

“I would… Anairë, I would have you with me, ever with me,” Ñolo murmured into her dark hair. “My lovely Anairë, my wife and heart.” He knew she would not – she was as wilful as he, and now that the first shock was fading, he could not claim that her refusal surprised him – and still he hoped she would relent.

“No. I shall not go to Endorë,” Anairë whispered into the blue of his tunic, her voice small and lost. Ñolo’s heart squeezed in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and felt her slender limbs around his middle in return. “And I beseech you change your mind also, though I know those words are in vain.”

“Is… Do we part here, Ana...?” he mumbled, the words like shards of ice tearing rends in his heart, bleeding with every shuddered exhale.

“I will never not be your wife, Ñolo,” Anairë whispered back, tilting her head up to look at him. “I shall be here till you return to me, and whither we then go… only Eru will know. I love you… husband.”

It was relief, of a sort, the thought that their parting was not forever; Anairë’s fëa twining with his own was a feeling he could not be without, Ñolo thought, the calm warmth of her love a balm even on his most trying days. Dipping his head, he kissed her gently, savouring the soft taste of her lips.

“I shall come for you, wife,” he promised, “when my duty is fulfilled, I shall come to you. So be it.”

**Author's Note:**

> For better resolution, [have a look here](https://i.imgur.com/4qDIOxJ.jpg)


End file.
